


Today, Tomorrow, Always

by Aseikh



Category: Ranger's Apprentice - John Flanagan
Genre: Bk 4 Flashbacks, Flashbacks, Gen, Horace is Concerned, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Indirect Self-Harm, Injury Recovery, Major Character Injury, Malcolm is Exasperated, Minor Violence, Non-Graphic Violence, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Will deals with some Shit, Will has Trauma from Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-30 12:53:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20097529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aseikh/pseuds/Aseikh
Summary: While on a mission with Horace, Will sustains an injury. Fearing the use of a healing salve with warmweed, the drug he was addicted to in Skandia, he hides the wound from Horace to avoid the drug.





	Today, Tomorrow, Always

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the RA Discord Server for giving me this idea! Thank you specifically to my friend Latte (lattereadsra on tumblr) for the idea behind most of this fic, as well as their amazing shoulder headcanon. If you don't know what the shoulder HC is, it's featured near the end of this fic, or you can search it up on their blog.

At first, Will thought that he and Horace would complete this mission without a single injury. Especially dealing with the Scotti, that was a hard thing to do. Horace was busy dispatching the last few raiders, and seemed bored by it, so Will lowered his bow, happy with how easy this mission had been. It was one of the few missions that sounded like a pain in the ass, and turned out to have a simple solution.

He smiled, ready to go home.

A twig snapped close behind him.

Will spun, a moment too late, before he felt a blade slice into his side. Pain flared, and Will reacted instinctively—his saxe flew out of it’s scabbard, and was slammed straight in the man’s chest, killing him instantly.

He put a hand to his side, feeling the warm gush of blood coming from the wound. “Oh no, no no no,” Will said quietly, looking down at the wound. His vision blurred. That was too much blood. They would need to—Will’s body went cold. They would need to use the healing salve that they had, after Horace looked at the wound. And that healing salve had warmweed in it. Because he had packed the wrong case.

“Hey, Will?” came the call. “I’m all done here, you good?” Horace was starting to walk up the hill, his blade still out and flecked in blood. Horace would be there any second.

Will had two choices: surrender to Horace’s care, and let him use the salve, or … or hide the wound. He looked down again to study the wound. It wasn’t that bad, he tried convincing himself, already a little dizzy from the pain and blood loss. It wasn’t bad enough for the salve or even Horace’s help, he continued. He would deal with it himself, and it would be fine.

It would be fine.

“Will?” Horace called again, having not heard a response from his Ranger. He was almost at the top of the hill, moments from seeing Will’s injury. “Everything alright? Do you need help?”

Without another thought, Will lifted his shirt, and shoved a cloth he had had in his back pocket over the wound. Pulling the shirt back over the cut, he made sure that the cut through the fabric couldn’t be seen, before ducking around the tree into Horace’s line of sight. “Yeah, yeah, sorry, I’m all good. Everything okay on your end?”

Horace came to an abrupt stop, his eyes wide in horror. “Will, you’re covered in blood.”

Moving to the side, Will nudged the dead body behind him with his boot. “Yeah, this guy’s blood. He came up behind me.”

Horace didn’t seem to buy it. “But you’re okay? That’s a lot of blood, Will, do you want me to—”

“No,” Will cut him off, “I’m fine, seriously. We just need to deal with these bodies, and we can head back home.”

The knight seemed to hesitate, looking over Will’s body to see if he could see anything. Horace, of course, knew about Will’s … dislike of the warmweed salve, but he didn’t know that Will had packed the wrong one on accident. Horace wouldn’t understand. Will doubted that Horace would think he would hide an injury from him because of it. “Well …” Horace paused, looking back down the hill at the few bodies and unconscious foes that were down there. “Help me move that guy down the hill, and then you can clean up while I deal with the rest.”

Will nodded, not bothering to argue. He hated the clean up, especially when it included dead bodies. That would also give him some time alone to clean and bind his wound.

Really, all they had to do was move the body closer to the hill, and roll it down, but it still took a moment or two before Will got into position across from Horace. He could feel the knight’s eyes on him, knowing that he was moving to favor his injured side. Would he notice? Horace picked up the arms of the body, and Will grabbed the legs, and together, though slightly slow on Will’s end, the two moved the body to the hill and laid it down. Horace seemed to shrug, before using his foot to push the body into a roll.

A stab of pain went up Will’s side, but he stayed silent as he watched Horace walk down the hill. Without even having to look at it, he knew the cloth was soaked through.

Horace turned. “You coming, bud? Camp’s back this way.”

He breathed. “Yeah, I’m coming.”

* * *

After Horace left the camp to go back to deal with the bodies, Will went to work. He flung his shirt off, gasping as dried blood kept his shirt stuck to his chest and the wound, which was mostly finished bleeding. Going through his bag, Will pulled out his canteen as well as some bandages. He poured the water over the wound, unsticking the shirt and washing away the dried blood. Having a look at the wound now, Will considered calling for Horace. It was deeper then he originally thought, slicing right into his side. Just looking at it made Will’s throat catch. Any deeper and it might have been fatal.

From the corner of his eye, Will could see the small container of healing salve poking out of Will’s first aid bag. He could even see the small charcoal mark he had put on the side of it to tell himself that it was the one with warmweed. Of course he hadn’t seen that mark when he was packing.

No. He had already hidden it once from Horace, lying to him. Going back on it would be a slap in the face for the knight.

He finished washing the wound out, ignoring the stabs of pain and the sounds of Horace moving nearby. He was too far to see Will, but close enough that Will could hear him and be able to tell when he started back. After the wound was clear, Will considered his options once more. He could leave it without the salve, which would force him to clean it as often as possible, but with him hiding it from Horace, that would be harder then anything else. Or, he could go back on his own thought and just use the salve, lacking literally anything else, and suffer through the consequences.

Horace would notice the second one much faster then the first.

Sighing, Will patted his side dry and wrapped the wound in gauze and bandages. It would have to be fine until they could get home and Will could find the non-warmweed salve he misplaced.

He gingerly slipped on another shirt, noting that the other one would probably be ruined. Even his pants hadn’t been spared the bloodstains, one side being soaked from waistband to just above his knee. No wonder Horace had been worried—it was a lot of blood to explain away as someone else’s.

By the time Horace returned, it was getting dark. Will had packed away his bloodstained clothes, and hid his first aid bag away in Tug’s saddlebags so Horace wouldn’t notice it’s presence. After cleaning the wound, Will went on to make dinner, knowing they wouldn’t get anywhere that night. They weren’t in any danger, and the area was known for the hunting game, so several campfires were probably lit throughout the night. He didn’t have much to work with, but he had caught a rabbit earlier in the day, and used it in a stew.

Now, Horace sat cross legged next to him, their knees touching as he slurped his second bowl of stew. “Goddamn, Will,” he said around a mouthful, “did you get a new recipe from Jenny? It tastes a little different.”

Will smiled, looking down into his own bowl. He was so tired. “Jenny gave me a few different spices and recommended some combinations. Do you like it?”

The bowl came down, and Will could see that Horace’s bowl was empty. Again. “It’s delicious.”

The knight put the bowl down and stretched his arms over his head. Will still had half a bowl left of stew in his, but found that he could barely stomach what he had already eaten. “If you want to eat the last of it, you can,” Will said, using his spoon to point at the nearly empty pot at the campfire. “I’m not that hungry, and I made extra knowing you would eat most of it anyways.”

Horace eyed the pot, his hand twitching near his bowl. “Are you sure? You haven’t eaten much.”

He motioned for him to go ahead, “Yes, Horace. I wouldn’t tell you to have the last of it if I wanted it.” Will’s grin widened, “Either way, you’re a growing boy!”

Snorting, Horace playfully shoved Will’s arm. “Shut up,” he laughed, leaning forward to ladle the rest of the stew into his bowl.

They sat quietly together, finishing up their dinner. Every once and a while, one would say or do something, and the other would respond, but up until they were about to go to bed, it was quiet around them, the two men just silently enjoying the other’s company. Their roles often split them apart for long periods of time, so even having one mission where they could be together, alone, just the two of them, was nice.

Will’s side had, thankfully, stopped hurting as much as it had been before. It was slightly numb, but, being on his right side and Horace sitting on his left, it was easy to hide the lump the gauze caused, as well as the instinctive slouch he did to lessen the pain.

Just before they were about to head to bed, Horace paused, and turned to look at Will. Will was just finishing up caring for Tug, and didn’t notice for a moment until he turned.

“Will?” Horace said, catching his attention. Will raised his eyebrows, a movement Horace took as an okay to ask his question. “How far is Macindaw from where we’re at?”

Lowering his hands from Tug’s mane, Will thought for a moment. They were just north of the border, although slightly more to the east then Macindaw’s central location. Will shrugged. “Not far, Maybe a few days extra from the route we took up here.” Will tried to picture his map in his head, not wanting to pull it out of it’s case and squint at it in the dark. “Why?”

Shrugging, Horace pulled his bedroll closer to the fire. “I was just thinking we could swing by and visit Malcolm over there. We haven’t seen him in a while, and the last few times we saw him it was only for his skill as a healer.”

Will smiled at Horace’s back as the knight looked to the sky, and then pulled out their shared tent. “You want to go visit Malcolm on our way back?”

“I just thought it’d be nice. We were given two months for this, and finished it a few weeks early. We can spare those few days to visit a friend, right?” Horace turned to look at Will. Even though they had worked together for years, Horace still deferred to the Ranger’s opinion when it came to things like this. It was cute.

Will walked over to Horace, and helped him set up the small tent while he thought. Technically, it would barely add on anything to their travel time, and they’d be able to visit a friend they barely got chances to see. It would be nice to visit the old healer without having to stress him out about sieges or poisons and whatnot.

He nodded, looked back up to Horace. “Yeah, I think that would be nice.”

* * *

Just as Will thought, it only added a few more days to their travels. Before heading to Malcolm’s, Will and Horace swung around to Castle Macindaw, checking in with Lord Orman and Xander, his persistently annoying secretary. The four of them spoke for a few hours, catching up with each other. Orman, despite being ill-fitted for the lordship when his father died, had fallen into it comfortably, and found that his lack of athleticism wasn’t much of a problem when it came to the fact that he had a garrison for a reason. His book smarts had helped the small fort increase it’s tiny population, bringing in more families and businesses. Within time, Will could see Duncan possibly declaring Macindaw it’s own fiefdom, with the increase of citizens and overall importance to Norgate entirely.

“Are you heading over to visit our local sorcerer?” Orman said, leaning back into his chair with a sly smile. “If not, we can definitely find some rooms for you.” Xander nodded from his spot behind Orman’s seat. As always, the man took his job too seriously.

Will shook his head, “We were actually going to head over there for a few days. We were further north and wanted to swing over to visit all of you.”

Orman’s smile widened. “Well, all right. You know where to find us if you need anything.”

Before night fell, Will and Horace left Castle Macindaw, and headed for Grimsdell. It had been a few days since Will had gotten injured, and so far he hadn’t had the chance to wash it out. He could feel the wound throbbing in his side, knowing that if he didn’t clean it tonight it would only get worse. Maybe Malcolm would have a salve that didn’t have warmweed, and Will would be able to use that. Malcolm was the one who previously gave him the non-warmweed salve.

The two stopped at the path entrance that led into the woods. They both looked at each other. “Do you remember the way through?” Horace asked Will.

Will shrugged. “Even if I did,” he said back, “it’s probably changed by now.” They stepped into the forest together, Horace leading Kicker and Will letting Tug follow behind him.

Damn his side hurt, though, and walking wasn’t helping. He could feel his body go from hot to cold, up and down, and despite all of his efforts, felt dizzy and knew he was showing it. Horace would glance at him every once and a while, and once, he had even reached out to steady him by grabbing his arm.

“Are you okay?” Horace asked finally, his hand still around Will’s arm to keep him upright. “You haven’t looked good since we left Picta—”

The Ranger gently pulled his arm from Horace’s grasp. “I’m fine,” he said quietly, not able to meet his friend’s eyes. “Just been feeling weird lately.”

Horace scoffed. “Feeling weird? Will, you’ve nearly passed out a few times just now. Do you want to sit? We can—”

“Sure.” Will agreed, not wanting to argue with Horace. He didn’t really have the energy to argue. He was making it obvious, and Horace would most definitely say something to him eventually but—that’s when Will remembered who they were going to visit. Malcolm would be able to tell instantly, if not the moment Will walked into his clearing. Or, Horace might say something to him when Will wasn’t paying attention.

Will could feel Horace’s eyes lingering on him a moment longer as he sat down on a fallen tree, before the knight lifted his fingers to his lips, and let out a piercing whistle. They waited in silence, listening to the sounds of the forest. “Maybe,” Horace murmured, breaking the silence, “you could talk to Malcolm. Of all people we’re going to visit, he’s probably the best to see when you’re not feeling well.”

“I’m fine,” Will responded, closing his eyes. “Really. I probably just need sleep.”

A few moments without a reply, Will opened his eyes again to meet Horace’s gaze. Without a word, Horace looked away, and let loose another whistle. After, he moved to sit beside Will on the log, this time sitting on Will’s right. He really, really hoped that he hadn’t bled through his bandages, because from the angle he was at, Horace would see it right away. But he didn’t say anything else.

Minutes later, the two companions heard rustling in the brush, and a small black and white dog popped out of a bush. “Hey, Shadow,” Will said, smiling. He stood and crouched in front of the dog, scratching behind her hears and petting the top of her head. Horace also kneeled beside him, showering the pup in affection.

“Can you take us to the clearing, girl?” Will asked, looking his former dog in the eyes. Shadow barked, and started walking down the path. When she realized they weren’t following just yet, she paused, and sat in the center of the trail.

Will stood and waited for Horace to grab Kicker’s reins, before following Shadow into the labyrinth that Malcolm called home.

* * *

The old healer was waiting for them outside his house. He had his arms crossed over his chest, and though his hair looked a little thinner, he looked almost exactly as he had the last time the two younger men had seen him. His face was expressionless, probably waiting to see who would walk out of his forest. Horace ducked into the clearing first, leading Kicker, and Will slipped in after him, Tug plodding dutifully behind him. Shadow was off, running across the clearing to where Will knew Trobar slept.

“Surprise!” Horace called, dropping the reins.

A wide grin split the healer’s face. “Horace! Will!” he exclaimed, walking forward. “What are you two doing here?”

“We were in the area,” Horace responded, giving the healer a gentle hug.

“We figured we could visit you without someone having to be hurt first,” Will added, jokingly.

Malcolm laughed, embracing Will. “I thought someone being hurt was a requirement for you to come see me,” he said back, looking Will up and down.

_Moment of truth_, Will thought. He was forcing himself to stand taller, not to slouch, not to make his old friend worried about him. Horace was already suspicious, but if he passed by Malcolm, Horace would have to let it go, right? Malcolm said nothing though, shaking his head at his two younger friends. “Come in, come in,” Malcolm said suddenly, spinning on his heels and waving his hand to motion the two to follow him. “I’m assuming you two want coffee, no? It’s been a while since anyone’s drained my supply, so I have more then enough for the two of you …”

Will and Horace only planned to stay with Malcolm for a few days, not wanting to intrude on any of his plans. Malcolm laughed at that, though, asking them what plans he would have besides helping his people and perhaps advising Orman on a few things. The first day, the three of them got all caught up, Will and Horace telling Malcolm stories of their travels, of what they’d been doing since they’d last seen him. Malcolm told them that he’s now frequently bothered by Skandian ships that need a safe place to anchor down for the night, and his small cove down the river that Gundar had orignally been stranded in was now used regularly for traveling Skandians. Will laughed at that. “Of course those bastards spread the knowledge of your cove, Gundar probably thinks he was doing you a favor.”

Over the nights, Will and Horace got the luxury of sleeping in a bed. It’d been a while since either of them had slept in a bed, so even though Malcolm’s spare room only had one bed, the two shared in favor of forcing one or the other to sleep on the ground. It’s not like they hadn’t shared a bed before.

The last day they were supposed to be there, Will woke up to a bad stitch in his side. He’d gotten the chance to wash it out the night they arrived, after Horace had passed out in the bed. Will had undone the bandages, wincing as the wraps stuck to the cut. It didn’t look good either. It was an angry red, slightly swollen with puss staining the bandages. He’d ignored the signs of infection, instead telling himself it was because he didn’t use the salve, and that it would be fine. He simply washed and rewrapped it, before falling into bed with Horace. That last day, though, it hurt so much more then when he was initally cut, and he knew for a fact that the bandages he used were being stained through. Unfortunately, he only had the two separate pieces, now both dirty. He wouldn’t be able to clean them without Horace, Malcolm, or both of them seeing him.

Again, against better judgment, Will ignored it.

“I hate to ask this of you two, considering you’re leaving tomorrow, but would you be able to help me with something?” Malcolm said, sitting down at the table near the front of the house with his two friends. Each of them nursed a cup of coffee, Will’s black with a small dollop of honey, Horace’s with milk and honey, and Malcolm’s with plain sugar. Hilariously, Malcolm had started keeping honey in his cupboards specifically because Will and Horace put it in their coffee.

“Sure, whatcha need?” Horace said, leaning back in his chair. Unlike the night at camp when Horace ate all the soup, this morning, Will was the one going through the coffee. Both Horace and Malcolm were only on their first cup, while Will was sitting down letting his second cup cool off.

The healer pointed up at the ceiling. “There’s a leak in my roof that goes right into my study. It’s ruined a few of my notes and supplies, so I’ve had to move the sensitive stuff into my room. I don’t think it’s a big leak, but …”

“But it’s still annoying and damaging,” Will finished, finally taking a sip of his cooled coffee.

Malcolm nodded, but something about Will had caught his attention. The young Ranger looked paler then normal, and was definitely favoring his right side over his left. Neither of them had said anything about injuries from the mission they had come from, so Malcolm had at first shaken off his worries. But now he noticed that Will was sweating, but that he also was wearing an extra jacket over his shirt. Was he running a fever?

“We can do that when we’re done here,” Horace said, stretching his arms over his head. It always made the old healer laugh, seeing Horace’s size and height compared to Will’s and his own. Horace could probably carry Will comfortably in his arms, and if not comfortably, he would most definitely be able to carry him.

Will nodded in agreement with Horace. “We’ll just need some tar, some old cloths,” he thought for a moment, “and if you have any slats that were used on your cabin originally, we should be good.”

Malcolm began to describe to Horace the location he thought they could find most of that, in a small shed behind his house. Horace left to find the tools, having finished his coffee, while Will stayed to finish his last cup.

“I wanted to ask you something quick, Will,” Malcolm said after the door closed after Horace. “Are you okay? You look sick.”

The Ranger shifted in his seat, crossing his arms and looking at Malcolm across the table. Looking at him, now, face to face, Malcolm knew for sure: Will was sick, no matter what he said.

“I might be sick, I don’t know,” Will said, half shrugging. “I’ve been feeling off for a while now, it’s nothing new.”

The healer frowned. “Why didn’t you say anything to me? I have plenty of things for a fever or—”

“No, no,” Will said, leaning forward onto the table. “Like I said, Malcolm, I’ve just been feeling … off. Sick or what, I don’t know.”

“Well, what are your symptoms? You look like you’re running a fever.” Malcolm reached forward, putting the back of his hand on Will’s forehead. Will smiled at him, but pulled away from his hand.

“Nothing, really. I haven’t been eating that much lately, and sometimes I have trouble sleeping. And sometimes I feel hot or cold, but it’s not like a fever or anything.” Will picked up his coffee mug, and downed the rest of the coffee. It added a little color to his cheeks, but not much. “It’s fine, Malcolm, really. It hasn’t been long, and most of the times I feel fine.”

Malcolm didn’t look convinced, but before he could say anything, Horace walked back into the house, interrupting their conversation. Will stood from his seat. “Ready?”

* * *

Will regretted climbing up the moment his feet landed on the roofing. Because Will was the one who could climb the siding without a rope, he had gone up first to help Horace up after him. He was on a roof maybe two moments before he started to feel dizzy again. Sure, he was good with heights and climbing, but it probably wasn’t a good idea when he didn’t have steady feet to begin with.

His wound had looked worse the night before, and yet he still refused to pick up his salve and use it. It would help, it would, but the effects of the warmweed would send Will mentally back to his times as a slave in Skandia. He didn’t know if he could survive that. He could barely survive _thinking_ about thinking about it.

Horace pulled himself up over the edge, groaning and mumbling something about Will being crazy for being able to climb like he could.

Will didn’t have the energy to laugh at Horace like he wanted.

Together, the two of them located the leak in the roof, and pulled the wooden slats off the roof. Horace had gotten the tar, and started to spread it over the leak, while Will looked up and away from what they were doing. He couldn’t see far off the roof, but it was still a beautiful sight, seeing the great expanse of Grimsdell forest from the top of the cottage. Suddenly, another bout of dizziness took over Will, and, too late, he realized he was slightly too close to the edge of the roof.

“Will!” Horace hissed, and, horrifically, Horace grabbed Will hard by the shoulder, and yanked him back from the edge right before he slipped.

And suddenly Will was back in the slave yards, a heavy hand on his shoulder, leading him away from the rest of the slaves into a private corner, a corner where Will _couldn’t_ resist even if his body allowed it. And through it all, the heavy, heavy hand was holding his shoulder. Every. Single. Time.

Will lost it.

“What the _fuck_, Horace,” he pulled out of Horace’s grasp, stumbling away from the knight as if he had been punched. Will couldn’t breathe. But was it because of his most-definitely-infected injury, or the fact that Horace had just triggered his flashback by doing the one thing his family knew not to do. Will couldn’t breathe. He had to breathe. He had to breateh, but he couldn’t. The hand, the hand. Goddamnit, why, why now? Will’s arms went around his stomach, hugging himself as he slowly sank to his knees on the roof. He could still feel Horace’s panicked presence, but worse, he could hear Malcolm yelling.

“Will? Horace? What’s happening, are you two okay?”

_Breathe, just breathe_, Will just told himself, tuning out Malcolm’s yells and Horace’s poor attempts at helping him. “Will, please talk to me, please, I’m sorry, you’re not breathing, you need …”

He shut his eyes. But then he saw the corner, the rooms, the kitchens, all with the heavy hand on his shoulder, _forcing_—

There was more movement around him, and gentle arms went around, behind, his back, deliberately lower down on his back to avoid his shoulders. “_Horace_,” Will cried, his voice catching.

Before he could hear Horace’s response, Will’s vision went dark.

* * *

Will woke to a dark room, and voices just outside the door. Pain throbbed in his side, but it wasn’t as bad as before. It was … bearable.

“Look, you say he’s had panic attacks before, Horace, and I can assure you he’ll be fine. It’s the cut in his side that worries me…”

“I know, Malcolm, but I’m pretty sure they’re related. I just checked his bags and his first aid kit is a mess. The salve you gave him wasn’t there.”

“The one without the warmweed extract?”

“I think he accidentally left it behind, and instead of treating his wound properly, panicked and hid it because he didn’t want to use the one with the warmweed.”

Silence.

“You’re probably right, then.”

“You didn’t use one with warmweed on him, right? I thought he’s told you …”

“He has, Horace. I used one without warmweed, but it’s significantly weaker at numbing, so he’ll be in some pain. He also shouldn’t stress it too much.”

“So what you’re saying is that he shouldn’t be traveling, even though we were supposed to leave today?”

“Well, yeah. There’s nothing keeping both of you here, but I figured you’d want to stay with him.”

“Of course I want to stay with him. He’s my best friend. I’m not leaving without him.”

Will closed his eyes.

* * *

A week later, and Will was back on his feet. Malcolm still fussed over him stressing the wound, mothering him incessantly to the point where Will had to tell Malcolm to give him a break. Horace wasn’t any better. They hadn’t spoken much since Will had fainted on the roof and Malcolm had kicked Horace out of the shared room, making him sleep on the floor in the now-dry study. But even though they weren’t speaking about Horace’s slip on the roof, the knight still made sure Will was comfortable and wasn’t doing anything more then what Malcolm recommended.

Will got tired of it fast.

“I’m _fine_,” he said one morning, Malcolm watching him as he walked from the spare room to the kitchenette where the coffee was. Malcolm had finally agreed to let Will go after it was pointed out that Will still had to make a deadline back to Redmont in a couple weeks, in addition to assurance from Horace that he would make sure Will was taking care of himself.

Malcolm tapped his chin. “Last time you said that, you were hiding an infection from me.”

Blood rushed to Will’s cheeks, and he quickly turned away from the healer.

Horace chose that moment to walk in from outside, having finished packing their things into the saddle bags. They would be leaving tomorrow morning. Will held out the cup he had just poured towards Horace. “I haven’t put anything in it yet,” he said, pouring another cup for himself when Horace accepted the proffered mug.

The room was awkwardly silent for a moment. And then, quietly, Will, with his back still turned, said “Thank you.”

Malcolm nodded silently, looking into his own cup of dark, bitter liquid.

“Always,” Horace said back, his throat catching. He watched as his friend and partner finished preparing his coffee, and turned to look at the two at the table. Horace nodded his head, making eye contact with Will. “Today, tomorrow … always.”


End file.
